the wanderers had fled for concealment. But wherever they existed, Old
Mortality was sure to visit them when his annual round brought them
within his reach. In the most lonely recesses of the mountains, the
moor-fowl shooter has been often surprised to find him busied in cleaning
the moss from the grey stones, renewing with his chisel the half-defaced
inscriptions, and repairing the emblems of death with which these simple
monuments are usually adorned. Motives of the most sincere, though
fanciful devotion, induced the old man to dedicate so many years of
existence to perform this tribute to the memory of the deceased warriors
of the church. He considered himself as fulfilling a sacred duty, while
renewing to the eyes of posterity the decaying emblems of the zeal and
sufferings of their forefathers, and thereby trimming, as it were, the
beacon-light, which was to warn future generations to defend their
religion even unto blood.

"In all his wanderings, the old pilgrim never seemed to need, or was
known to accept, pecuniary assistance. It is true, his wants were very
few; for wherever he went, he found ready quarters in the house of some
Cameronian of his own sect, or of some other religious person. The
hospitality which was reverentially paid to him he always acknowledged,
by repairing the gravestones (if there existed any) belonging to the
family or ancestors of his host. As the wanderer was usually to be seen
bent on this pious task within the precincts of some country churchyard,
or reclined on the solitary tombstone among the heath, disturbing the
plover and the black-cock with the clink of his chisel and mallet, with
his old white pony grazing by his side, he acquired, from his converse
among the dead, the popular appellation of Old Mortality.

"The character of such a man could have in it little connexion even with
innocent gaiety. Yet, among those of his own religious persuasion, he is